


In the Night

by druscilla



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Getting Together, Insomnia, M/M, Pre-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 05:33:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6106495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druscilla/pseuds/druscilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by "Samson" by Regina Spektor.  </p><p>Neither Pete nor Patrick is much of a sleeper and the night gives birth to things the day can't claim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Night

Patrick never went to bed early and Pete could never sleep more than two hours in a go, so it was never a surprise that they worked out a rhythm on the tour bus at night, Patrick was his headphones in working on whatever he was working on and Pete shuffling from the kitchen to the movie on his laptop to laying with his head in Patrick’s lap. If the younger boy wasn’t working on something, his fingers would absently stroke Pete’s hair, sometimes tucking it behind his ears or rubbing the back of his neck under his shirt collar.

Sometimes Patrick would take his headphones off and Pete would curl into his side, letting the younger boy feather kisses down the side of his face and on his fingertips. Sometimes Patrick would start to talk and say things like “we should” and Pete would bolt to his bunk and hide there until morning. Patrick learned to keep his mouth shut except for kisses.

Pete kissed Patrick on the mouth the night before the tour was supposed to end, eyes widening as they broke apart. His shoulders hitched and Patrick knew what was going to happen, so he grabbed Pete’s wrist before he could run. “But I like you,” Patrick said before he was silenced. “Why don’t you like me?”

Pete looked horrified. He knew about words. They leaked from him. And once they were out there was no stuffing them back in. And no Patrick was demanding more words from him that couldn’t be stuffed back in.

“I do,” he whispered, voice shaking, his eyes staring at the blinds hard, dancing up the slats and back down again, trying to distract himself. “I don’t … I can’t.”

“Why?” Patrick was almost crying now. He didn’t care. Pete had seen him cry before.

Pete winced at the sound of the tears, the soft sniffle. He refused to look. He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t. He did. And he couldn’t help it, with Patrick crying and looking so lost, to pull the younger boy close, arms tightening around him. “I’m no good for you. I’ll just break you. You’re better off without me.”

Patrick bit his shoulder and Pete pulled back with a small cry, eyes widened in almost disbelief. “That is such bullshit,” Patrick snapped. “I’m in a band with you. I’m already stuck with you. I’m already dealing with you. But you’re too scared to what? Like, not run away when I kiss you?”

He was pissed and now Pete was almost crying, sucking in deep breaths through his teen and touching where Patrick had bit him even though it wasn’t really that hard. “It’s different when–”

“It’s not different,” Patrick interrupted coldly. “We’re practically dating now.”

Pete let the words sink in, all the words that could never be taken back. He rubbed at his shoulder and blinked and looked at the blinds again. “I’m tired,” he whispered finally.

“Go to bed then,” Patrick mumbled, shrugging.

Pete hesitated, too much going on in his head for him to even think about sleeping. “Come with me?”

The younger boy shook his head, refusing to meet the brown eyes. “Not until we figure this out it hurts too much. Pete.”

Pete nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat as he disappeared and climbed into his bunk, quietly crying himself to sleep. He dreamt he fell off the stage and the fans broke the barricade to strangle him and the last thing he saw was Patrick’s hand reaching out to him.

—

They were ignoring each other in the dressing room while they waited for catering to finish getting lunch ready. Patrick was pretending to do something on his laptop but Pete was just tracing patterns on his jeans with his fingers and sulking. His poker face was shit and he knew it. He knew everyone probably knew what was going on and that Joe and Andy /definitely/ knew more than they let on, but he didn’t care. He was tired from barely sleeping and angry from all the words and scared because Patrick was mad at him.

Pete stood behind Patrick for catering, poking him twice in the back and receiving one small glance in return, but nothing more. Pete sat next to him and pushed their thighs together under the table. Patrick didn’t say anything, but his leg remained there, motionless. They talked to everyone around them but not each other. The knowing glances were kept to a minimum.

Pete barely ate. Patrick broke his silence to point out he needed to have energy for the show and he grudgingly spooned a few bites in his mouth before ditching his plate and announcing he was going to the bus to try and sleep. No one said a word when Patrick followed a few minutes later.

“I had a dream about you,” Pete said from the couch, a pillow sitting in his lap, not even looking up when the door opened. He knew.

Patrick sat across from him. “Yeah?” It was impossible to tell what he was thinking from the tone in his voice, but he didn’t sound angry anymore.

“I don’t want to break up and lose you,” Pete whispered. “You’re my best friend.”

“I know.” That time Patrick’s voice was soft and gentle, almost understanding. Pete lifted his head and met the blue eyes that were watching him intently. “I am, too. But I want you.”

Pete took a ragged breath. “I’m a bad boyfriend.”

Patrick didn’t deny it. “I’ll be patient.”

There was silence for a moment, Pete’s eyes drifting to the zipper on Patrick’s hoodie as he considered the promise, considered the prospect, considered the ending, considered never feeling Patrick’s lips on his tattoos again, never laying his head in the younger boy’s lap and feeling soft fingers in his hair.

A sob tore itself from his throat and Patrick was there holding him and Pete was kissing him desperately while he was crying and the younger boy was kissing back and crying a little too, their hands and tears and bodies and mouths becoming a blur.

And then finally they were still, foreheads pressed together, Patrick’s fingers in Pete’s hair while the older boy’s were twisted in his hoodie, catching their breath and inhaling each other.

“I think I love you,” Pete whispered.

“I know I love you,” Patrick returned.

And there were no more words. They stayed like that, barely moving, until they heard the door unlocking and sat up, finally wiping at their cheeks and yelling back that they would be at sound check.

Pete held Patrick’s hand down the hallway and he didn’t even know if anyone said anything, he was too busy watching the way the younger boy’s eyes crinkled when he smiled.


End file.
